


Find me a way

by lajeunefemmeaucrayon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, D/s, Dom/sub, M/M, References to Suicide, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:34:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 13,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lajeunefemmeaucrayon/pseuds/lajeunefemmeaucrayon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where everyone is a Dom or a sub, John Watson, a Dom, had lost his way. Until he met Sherlock Holmes. The detective was NOT a sub. Or so he claims.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The last days of the soldier

John is a Dom.

And he loved it. Seeing subs come undone under his hands, hearing them calling his name while they reach pleasure, knowing that, he was responsible for that was the greatest feeling in the world. Nothing came close to it. Taking care of their needs, their wants, making sure they were healthy and satisfied, was his calling. He became a doctor because he needed to serve and protect others. He was good, extremely good, at being a Dom. Hell, he didn't get the name 'Three–Continent-Watson' for nothing.

John Watson wasn't a good surgeon anymore. His scars and pains reminded him every hour.

Captain Watson was a broken man. Who wanted a broken Dom? He couldn't take care of himself, how could he take care of another human being?

In the middle of the night, the soldier would awaken. Dreams of explosions, tears and pain were his routine now. He couldn't stand it anymore. Not only did he have the nightmares, but also the dark thoughts that came with them. And they didn't just take place at night now, they were starting to make themselves known in bright light. They were getting harder to push aside, as was the idea of his gun, waiting for him in the drawer.

He couldn't live like that anymore. The man, the soldier, the doctor, the Dom, all were at war in his own mind. Since John was a man of action, he gave himself seven days to find another solution. Otherwise, it would be the gun beside the bed.

Day 1 : Job search.

John had run around London all day. Visiting every clinic and hospital in existence. He was greeted in all of them with a smile, a thank you and a 'we'll call you'.

Day 2 : Therapy.

John Watson Blog.  
Entry #1

Nothing ever happens to me.

Day 3: Wait for call-backs.

The doctor stared at his phone, trying to will it to ring.  
Nobody calls him back.

Day 4 : New flat.

John was sitting in the middle of the coffee shop, not by choice. He preferred to sit in a corner, where he would not be seen. He was through the ads for flats, all of which he couldn't afford.

His last seven days were not looking good.

Day 5 : Visiting.

The only one he could afford was full of rats. For the first time, he was actually looking forward to come back to the small room where his belongings lay on top of each other.

Day 6 : Harry.

What on earth was he thinking? That a visit to Harry's was going to make everything better? He ended up helping get rid of her hangover and getting in a arguments  about their family, John's army days, and Harry 'none-existing-drinking-problem'.

And to make everything that much better, he got stuck in the subway of love, surrounded by happy Doms and subs. Happy couples making him remember how lonely he felt.

Day 7 : Nothing.

John was sitting alone in a park. It was a beautiful sunny day, a rarity for this time of year. He took a deep breath. He felt a strange calm since he woke up this morning. The last of his days. He hadn't found any solution, and his decision was made. Midnight tonight.

And then, he met Mike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for D.Kelly for correcting may many mistakes!


	2. You will meet a tall, dark stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last of John seven days.

When John came into the room, his focus was on the computers. Clearly, the hospital had so much more money than in his days. He looked at Mike, who had an expression that meant 'I know, they are luckier than us'. In return, he gave Mike a knowing smile and felt the urge to say something like an old man would : "in my time...". John likes Mike: he was a simple guy with nothing complicated about him. His fellow classmate was still with the same girlfriend he'd met when they were in their first year at uni. She was a good Dom, a tad controlling, but what Mike needed. When Mike pointed at the other man present in the room, John saw the wedding ring on Mike's finger, and that put a little smile on his face.

John slowly turned in the direction Mike had pointed. He felt the man before he saw him. Waves of emotions, a burst of manic energy, hit John with incredible force. John's protective instincts went into overdrive. The man was a sub and clearly he didn't belong to someone or if he did, he was being badly handled. John wanted to hurt that Dom for leaving sub in such a bad condition. John knew you could read his emotions on his face like a book, and he figured he probably looked really angry. He took a deep breath: he didn't want to scare Mike or the new sub. The soldier put aside all violent ideas to really look at the man that could be his next flatmate.

The man was tall, way too skinny, had black curly hair, and his face was full of angles. It shouldn't work, John thought; he shouldn't be so attractive.

Sherlock Holmes talked quickly and knew everything about him in seconds. The man was as equally mad and intelligent as he was mysterious and beautiful. He told John his life, who he was, what he did, and where he came from with only one look.

"Amazing". John couldn't stop himself, he was impressed by the man's ability.

The comment made the tall man freeze, and a little smile danced on his lips for a few seconds before disappearing. When Sherlock Holmes got up to leave, John's eyes followed his every movement.

"The address is 221 B Baker Street."

The sub left with a wink at John. And John was hooked. He wanted to see Sherlock again. Tomorrow, he would be there, all ideas of a gun and dark thoughts forgotten.

Mike smiled at him "Yeah, he's always like that. Doms, you're never easy."

John frowned at that comment, wondering if Mike thought Sherlock was a Dom. Mike laughed and said, "I live with one, I should know".

They both left the hospital, and went their separate ways with a goodbye and a promise of a pint in the next week.

John stopped at Tesco to buy food for the next few days, and went to get dinner at a Chinese place he knew. By the time he made his way back to his room, it was already dark outside. John sat on his bed, remembering his strange encounter. He realised that Mike talked to Sherlock like he talked to any other Dom. Subs tended to be more relaxed with each other, like they didn't need to impress anyone.

But Sherlock wasn't a Dom, John knew. He could feel it, he even saw Sherlock's eager response to his praise. Why was he hiding? Doms and subs had equal rights now, just like the switcH community. Nobody needed to pretend anymore, any sub could do any job they chose. It was still hard to access high profile jobs, but with the law supporting them, soon there would be as many subs as Doms in the government.

John took a deep breath and lay on top of his bed. He tried to picture Sherlock as a Dom. It just didn't fit. It was intriguing. It had been a while since a sub had made his way in to his head. And it had never happened that fast.

He wanted to see Sherlock on his knees, put his hands in sub's hair. He wanted to _make_ Sherlock go to his knees, he wanted to see how he handled pain, to see pleasure on his face, to hear him scream, and whisper his name.

Soon enough, the Captain went to sleep. No nightmares woke him up; the first good night since his injury in the desert. Instead, he dreamt of a mysterious man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your support! Hope you will be happy with the new chapter. :)
> 
> Beta : D. Kelly :)


	3. Always about the money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock was... well, Sherlock.

Sherlock was … well, Sherlock.

Little Sherlock had been obsessed with knowledge. He wanted to learn everything there was, and school was certainly not enough. He would choose a subject and then learn every single detail he could about it. He read books, asked questions to his parents, Mycroft, his teachers, even strangers in the street. His brother would read him books at night about his latest fixation. Even his dad would give him things related to his current subject, staying up late by his side and answering every question Sherlock could come up with. Now and then, they would stay up all night, laughing and reading the dictionary or an encyclopedia together.

Sherlock was an addict. When he discovered drugs, he knew he was hooked the first time he tried them. The peace that would come after the hit, the rush, the pleasure, nothing compared to it. Nothing except the Work.

His job, his life, was the Work. Every single thing he had ever learned was a tool in helping him find answers, in discovering the truth. It helped him make his deductions. He didn't need anyone else he had himself and the Work. That was more than enough. His strength was his mind, and his mind was his weakness. When boredom crept in, his mind would betray him. He could not make it stops, he couldn't go to sleep. His mind would swirl with endless possibilities, deductions he missed, things he didn't acknowledge, scenes and dialogues repeated again and again. It would take him days and days to come back from that state. Only a good challenge could help or a strong dose of a mind-altering concoction.

Sherlock Holmes was a strange man. He didn't sleep or eat regularly,and considered his body his body only 'transport'. He played violin in the middle of the night if it suited him, he talked to himself or the skull for hours at a time, or he didn't talk at all for days. He didn't tidy up or cook. Sometimes, he didn't realise there was somebody else in the room with him or when someone wasn't there anymore. And most of all, Sherlock Holmes was broke.

Who would want him as a flatmate?

_____

Sherlock was perched over a body in the middle of Bart's morgue. If someone entered the room now, the detective would look like a mad scientist with his Frankenstein-like creation.

Mike came in.

"Hey there, Sherlock. How are you?"

Sherlock didn't look at Mike or make any sign of acknowledging his presence. Mike was used to the weird moods Sherlock had and he knew better than to disturb the Dom. The pathologist went about his chores, putting a comfortable silence between him and the other man.

Sherlock was fascinated by the body in front of him. The man had died of a cardiac arrest in an industrial freezer, only to be found a month later. The conservation of his organs was captivating. As the body slowly lost his interest for Sherlock, he started to think of his flatmate problem. Mrs. Hudson would give him a good deal on a flat strategically placed on Baker street, but there wasn't any way he could afford it alone. Mike was making noises and getting on his nerves, but Sherlock didn't say anything since Mike allowed him in the morgue, and he needed the doctor on his side to steal body parts. Mike was quite social and would need to talk soon. Sherlock always did his best to abort that kind of nonsense. Nice weather isn't it? Boring talk isn't it? Mike was a social man. That thought came back into Sherlock's mind, repeating itself, again and again. Then it hit him, social, Mike would know a lot of people. So, maybe he knew someone desperate enough to be Sherlock's flatmate. Ideally, someone blind and mute.

"I need a flatmate."

Mike looked baffled. He opened his mouth, but said nothing. Sherlock questioned himself. Did he read the social clues wrong? Didn't Mike consider him an acquaintance? They had been together 26 times in settings related to the hospital. Surely, he would not consider Sherlock a stranger. So why did he not answer Sherlock's question? Maybe he didn't understood? There was always something Sherlock's missed...what did he miss this time?

While Sherlock was thinking, Mike shook himself out of his shock that Sherlock had willingly shared something with him, and started to name every person he knew of that could possibly want a flatmate. If Sherlock wasn't so lost in his mind, he would have found the number of people one man could know impressive, Doms and subs alike.

Sherlock considered maybe if he should rephrase?

"Who would want me as a flatmate?"

And then, Mike met John.


	4. The man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sherlock meet John.

The room at Bart's was fairly quiet. The fine buzz of neon lights and machines were making the room feel less empty. A normal human being would find the place to be calm and relaxing, a place in which one could easily concentrate. Not Sherlock. His mind buzzed with hypotheses about his latest case, stray deductions about who had been in this room before him, and his current lab work. He could concentrated on the task in front of him but not without draining a lot of energy. There were so many ideas in his brain. It was hard not to think about the way the chairs beside him had been replaced, the traces of red pen on the desk, or the clear residue on one of the microscopes. There were also particles of... yes! Croissant au beurre crumbs left in the keyboard. Too many people had been in the room lately, and it was hard to have a satisfying conclusion as to whom had sat there last. So his thoughts kept on swirling. He could use a fix; his favorite drug or at least a cigarette would be nice at times like this. The detective took a deep breath and put some pressure on his nicotine patch. It helped him refocus on the microscope. More focused now, blocking any stimulation he didn't want, his fingers played fast with the beaker, the hypothesis quickly forming. The detective felt a wave of cold air on his neck. People. Not dangerous, he could continue his work. Suddenly, the thoughts he wanted to focus on were easier to see, like dark ink on a white paper. It took less effort to bring them to the front of his brain all of a sudden. His mind was still chaos, but one he could understand.

He needed to text. Now. Cellphone. His mind focused on the sounds of voices behind him. Two people. One of them was Mike. He had talked to him earlier today. The sub always wanted to talk, so he told Mike about his flatmate problem. The man whit Mike was certainly related to the subject. Sherlock turned around and observed.

Instantly, the other man intrigued him. He was friendly and open, though not too much, not in a way that was displeasing. His army days were showing in his stance. Less weight on his right leg. A tremor, his left hand. Cellphone. Text. Not socially acceptable to ask the other man, could be unwise if he was a potential flatmate.

"Sorry, it's in my coat" said Mike.

"Here, use mine."Sherlock looked more openly. The man was handsome, certainly. Sherlock could read so many things about him in his clothes, in his hair, see emotions on his face. He wanted to impress this man. So he did what he knew best.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

After he declared everything he could deduce the other man's life, the man, John, said: "Amazing" to him. The praise warmed Sherlock, and put a tingling sensation in his lower back. Text. He had to send it. There, he did it. The arrangement could fit. Army pension was not much, but enough to pay half the rent. More than that, an army doctor had some expertise that could be useful for the Work. It was a perfect fit. "The address is 221 B Baker Street."

Sherlock left Mike and John with a wink. Before he closed the door, he had time to take one last peek at the doctor. He took a picture in his head; colour of his hair, colour of his skin, haircut, shirt (blue, white and black), white buttons, grey overcoat, dark pants, a belt with a silver hook, brown shoes and the cane. He wanted to keep John Watson in his mind.

He forgot his encounter for the rest of the day, he had police officers to nag and cases to close. He was brilliant all day. The consulting detective was focused; he could see every little detail that mattered while the others were oblivious.

Finally, at the end of the day, when he came back to his room, he had time to think about the man. John Watson was fascinating, he had a psychosomatic limp, a wound in his arm, didn't have a job. He was a broken man, yet, he stood tall and everything about him demanded respect. What were John Watson's secrets? For now, he could pay the rent and give Sherlock a little mystery to work on when he was bored. That was a good enough deal for the detective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely Kazekune for the corrections ! :) and D. Kelly!


	5. You see but, you don't observe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Not excuse! I'm lazy....
> 
> D.Kelly for the corrections!!

Sherlock sat in the cab in the direction of Baker street. As he fumbled with his scarf, he felt something twisting in his stomach. He tried to ignore it, but the unpleasant feeling kept growing and growing as they approached 221 B. He didn't have a lot to think about to keep his brain occupied. He had just put everything about the case in his mind palace. He looked at people on the street. Boring. All of them. All of them were predictable. John Watson was not boring. Stop. Sherlock changed his line of thoughts. He focused on the taxi driver. Clearly a new father, there was a small patch of milk on his shoulder. A small brown leather collar hung low on his neck. He had a new born and a school-age girl. The picture of John from yesterday continually flashed into his head while he was trying to focus on his deductions. All along the ride, he kept fumbling absently with his blue scarf, making it bit by bit tighter. Strangely, the pressure on his neck calmed Sherlock. He saw the flat in short distance, the soldier was already limping his way to the door.

John was wearing a black coat with patches at the elbows, black jeans, a beige jumper, and the same brown shoes as yesterday. Sherlock got out of the cab, acting nonchalant, although the unpleasant feeling was even stronger.

"Hello" he said to John. His voice cracked a bit and was missing his usual superiority.

"Ah, Mister Holmes." John changed his cane to his left hand to shake Sherlock's hand with his right.

"Sherlock, please." As soon as their hands touched, Sherlock's unpleasant feeling vanished as if it was never there, and the tall man gained back his composure.

They made small talk about the flat before the door opened. Sherlock knew his story about Mrs. Hudson would impress John. He told it, hoping it would earn him praise like yesterday. Instead, John made wide eyes. That wasn't as good, but it was better than nothing.

At last, Mrs. Hudson, a sub without any collar, came to the door. They went inside to see the flat. John seemed to like it, which pleased Sherlock.

"I found your web site." John had searched for him? That tingling sensation in his lower back that he had felt yesterday was there again. John, he needed to impress John. Make him want to stay, make him want to be his flatmate.

Then they heard a police car. The Work. Nothing else on his mind.

Lestrade came in, staying at the door. The sub obviously wanted him to come to the crime scene right away. A fourth suicide. He waited for Lestrade to leave before he let his exaltation explode. "It's Christmas!" Finally, something interesting to occupy his brain. Sherlock left quickly, but on the way down, something nagged at him. He had missed something obvious. What was it? He needed an assistant and Anderson was the worst Dom ever. So boring, predictable, acting like everything should be given to him on a golden plate. Sherlock couldn't resist rebelling against everything the man said or did. His mere presence was irritating to Sherlock. The detective took two more steps before he realised what he'd missed. John was an army doctor. Danger. Saw terrible things. John would love it. Not only would he get a worthy assistant but, it would also help John decide to stay.

"Want to see some more?"

"God, yes."

John was following him. It was brilliant.

***

John had followed Sherlock blindly at the crime scene and now he was alone, limping his way back home. Half of the yard had warned him about Sherlock, that he was crazy, a psychopath, someone you should not be friends with. They described him as an arrogant Dom, without any empathy. The mind of the doctor kept going back to the cab, when Sherlock had told him how he knew all those things about his life. The image of the detective, with a bit of red to his cheeks and his mouth slightly open when John had praised him for his deductions, lingered in his head. Sherlock wasn't used to praises, that much was obvious, and he clearly had forgotten about John when his work had overtaken his mind.

He was walking in the dark street when a phone rang. The sound stopped when he passed. But then next one started to ring again. And the third phone. So he did the only logical thing at that point. He answered the phone.

"Get in the car, Dr. Watson"

The soldier felt a wave of adrenaline in his veins as he entered the car. It was a common sensation for him, the calm before storm. All his senses were on high alert.

They were in an old factory. In front of the headlights was standing a man with an umbrella. The soldier got out of the car. The man called him by his name and offered him a seat. John said nothing about the seat, but when he got closer to the strange man, he made a point that he could have been reached on his phone.

"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet."

John stood a bit taller as he heard Sherlock's name.

"The leg must be hurting you, sit down."

The man used his Dominant voice; it was an order, not an invitation. It didn't make John flinch. The man standing in front of him was a Dom, that was obvious, and he had a strong commanding voice. John wasn't impressed.

"I don't want to sit down."

Briefly, the man looked surprised. He wasn't used to people not following his orders. He regained his composure before John could see too much.

" Ah, yes, the bravery of a soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think? "

John raised an eyebrow at that. The man was trying to diminish the importance of his resistance to him.

"What is your relationship to Sherlock Holmes?"

"I don't have one, met him yesterday."

"Sherlock Holmes doesn't need anyone."

John's inner Dom rebelled at that; Sherlock needed someone to take care of his basic needs. He was not doing a good job by himself, the man was so thin you could see through him.

"Who are you exactly?"

"An interested party. I'm the closest thing Sherlock has to a friend. That is an enemy. He'd probably call me his Arch-enemy."

Then the man offered him a bride to spy on Sherlock as if John would say yes. In the middle of the conversation, John received a text from Sherlock, and all his instincts were telling him to go to the sub. It must have shown in his face because the man had a wicked smile on his face.

"Trust issues, doesn't make friends easily..." How had the man obtained that information about him? He knew about the tremor in his left hand, the PTSD, even the fact that he misses the war.

"We are done." John had said the sentence lightly, without force behind it, but, the man still retreated. John turned to leave without a backwards glance at the strange man with the umbrella.

As he watched John leaving, Mycroft whispered: "Finally."


	6. The first date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to humiliate yourself in one lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D.Kelly for corrections!

The case was crazy. Serial suicides? A woman all in pink, lawing a name into the wooden floor? John told himself he shouldn't find the death of four people this invigorating. He really shouldn't. The soldier snapped back to reality. The tall man was saying something about the case. How could Sherlock talk so fast?

"Are you hungry?"

John was starving. He followed Sherlock into an Italian restaurant. The air was full of sweet smells. A man, probably the owner, came to greet them.

"Sherlock! Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you and your sub" said Angelo, the owner. A sub himself, judging by the gold collar around his neck.

"I’m not his sub" a surprised John answered.

"I’ll get a candle for the table. It’s more romantic" Angelo whispered to the detective.

"I’m not his sub!" John raises his voice, but clearly nobody was listening to him.

Soon, there was a plate of delicious pasta in front of him and a class of water in front of Sherlock.

"People don’t have arch-enemies."

Sherlock looked at John, brows knit together. "I’m sorry?"

"In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn’t happen."

"Doesn’t it? Sounds a bit dull."

"So who did I meet? A Dom, that much was obvious." God, John sounded like a jealous boyfriend. So much for not showing your cards early in the game, right?

"What do real people have, then, in ‘real life’?" Sherlock looked curious, like he genuinely did not know the answer, or which answer John would give.

"Friends, people they know, people they like, people they don’t like… Girlfriends, Boyfriend, sub or Dom…"

"Yes, well, as I was saying – dull."

"You don’t have a girlfriend, then?" John asked, choosing his words carefully. In this day and age of swiTches, Doms going out together, subs getting married, girlfriend or boyfriend were much more acceptable terms.

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area." Sherlock was looking intensely at the window.

"Oh, right. Do you have a boyfriend?" John wanted to found out more about Sherlock, he was curious about the tall man. "Which is fine, by the way." In the old traditional families, you could only be with someone of the opposite sex and opposite tendency. Most people didn't care anymore.

"I know it’s fine."

"So you’ve got a boyfriend then?"

"No."

"Right. Okay. You’re unattached. Like me. Fine. Good." Stop talking, Watson. This conversation was getting more and more awkward, John stuffed more food in his mouth.

"John, um … I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I’m flattered by your interest, I’m really not looking for any…"

"No. I’m not asking. No." God, John has been too obvious. He should remember that he's talking with a detective next time. "I’m just saying, it’s all fine."

Sherlock looked at John for a moment clearly deciding something. Then, he nodded.

"Good. Thank you."

John hadn't gotten the answer to his question, and humiliated himself to boot. Great. At least the food was good.


	7. You see but you don't observe

Sherlock sat in the chair that was now basically his. It was late in the night or early in the morning. The genius had forgotten the time, even the date. Only one thought was circling in his head.

"How did I not see?" He and John had been living together for a few weeks now, and he hadn't observed. 

John Watson was perfect to be his flatmate. His knowledge helped Sherlock on the Work, he had the best aim Sherlock had seen in his entire life, he loved the danger, and he supported Sherlock's moods. 

Nothing. He never even suspected it. 

The darkness was heavy in the flat. Two street lamps had burned out this week. If somebody came in the flat now, all they would see of Sherlock was a darker shadow on a chair.

The genius was remembering every detail from every encounter he had had with John. In light of events and the knowledge he'd gained tonight, it was obvious. Could he have been so blind?

John Watson was a Dom.

 

The night started out perfectly. John had just come back from that boring job of his when Sherlock realised where they needed to search for the thief of the red-headed client. 

Once they where in the dark alley just beside the bank, crouched down in hiding, Sherlock was as still has a statue. Except for his hands. He could not stop twisting them, playing them like they were on his violin. God, London criminals were so slow. Where were they?

By his side, John was still as a soldier. Sherlock was congratulating himself on the wise choice of his new flatmate when John put a hand on his leg. Sherlock's entire leg went sparkling, like if the end of John's fingers were connected directly to his nerves system. Sherlock's mind started focusing on the warm feeling in his lower back and on his leg, and he completely forgot that they were waiting for a criminal. His hands hung inert by his side.

After half an hour, John spoke softly, "There's someone at the end of the alley".

Sherlock almost whined when John removed his hand.

"Yes, right, John, you go straight for him. I'll get the roof" muttered the detective. 

He went his way up while listening to John's footstep making their way toward the criminal. He heard John yell out suddenly for the man to stop running. Good, they both needed the exercise.

On the roof, Sherlock could see John and the man running. Slowly, careful not to make a sound, Sherlock took a staircase in an adjacent street. Quietly, he made his way to the criminal. 

That's when he heard John. 

"Stop. Kneel."

Two simple words. But John had used his Dom voice. Doms rarely used their Doms voice out and about since it wouldn't do to overuse it or to use it in a public place where it could affect a lot of people. There were different variations of it, like a Dom declaring his dominance over another Dom or a sub, a parent over their child, or, one lover to another. One way or an other, the commands had the be fallowed. 

No Dom voice ever worked on Sherlock, not since he were a child. Mycroft had helped him learn the trick when they were kids. At the time, it was only to bug his mother. And it worked beautifully, even to the present day. It gave him the benefit of knowing that in both his work and his life, no one was going to make him do anything. 

But in a dark alley, without John looking at him or even knowing he was there, Sherlock Holmes went to his knees. 

What disturbed Sherlock the most was not that he went down so easily, every sub and a lot of Doms found voices that affected them more than others, but when he was in that position, with one hand grabbing the brick wall, he was shocked by the pleasure that ran through his body and his mind, like an electric wire that John had turned on. Sherlock took a deep breath, the warm feeling in his lower back still there. 

"Good. Now, stay there". John was now using his normal voice. It gave Sherlock time to get up as he heard John whisper, "Where is that bloody genius?"

"Here. I see you took care of the situation without me. Always efficient, John."

He saw the soldier smile in the dim light. The detective burned the image into his brain, John standing tall, with a smile on his face, a man kneeling in front of him. 

 

It was that image that was hunting the mad scientist in the dark of 221B. But instead of the criminal kneeling, it was him. 

His mind was at war. He gripped the sides of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were neon white. On one side of the war, he wanted to go to John's bedroom. Maybe he could sneak into his flatmate's bed without him noticing, and sleep until John caught him. Maybe he could kneel beside the bed, head by John's, showing the man he clearly wanted to submit. Maybe he could go buy a collar and burn John's name on it and wear it inside the flat.

On the other side, he wanted to scream at John, for not telling him, not showing him that he was a Dom. Maybe he should break some of John's boring belongings. Maybe he could put some virus on John's laptop or make every last of bag of tea disappear on this side of London. 

Instead, Sherlock stayed in the dark, never sleeping and never making up his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to D.Kelly for beta-ing :) And for all your comments and kudos!
> 
> All mistakes left are mine, for sure. 
> 
> PS I'll edit the other chapter during the week-end!


	8. Not just a machine

John was sitting in his borrowed office in the clinic. He was half way through his short shift and he was starting to feel incredibly tired. He had not slept in the last 24 hours and he barely had more than 3 or 4 hours in bed per night in the last few weeks. When his eyes closed on their own will, he made the observation that he shouldn't even be at work, but the clinic was short of three doctors, flu season was in full force and he had already taken off a few days so he could run with Sherlock. There was no way he could take another day off without losing his job.

The case was finally closed. It had begun as a small rubbery without suspect. Sherlock had mysteriously found out that a complicated ring of thieves was behind it. He had slowly ripped the ring apart, linking every thief in it to old, unresolved affairs. But the real thief of their case seem to be playing hard to get. As they looked for him throughout London, Sherlock kept murmuring compliments to the suspect for being so hard to get. 

As they ran about their city, John had come to terms with his feeling for Sherlock and had made a decision about them (they did have a lot of time waiting around for thieves to show up). 

John's inner Dom wanted Sherlock. He wanted to put him on his knees, but mostly, he wanted to show Sherlock the pleasure of it. He wanted to see Sherlock in subspace, where the pain and pleasure mixed together, where the mind and the body became one, a place made of bliss and peace. His Dom side wanted, needed to put the sub there, needed to possess Sherlock. 

The doctor in him really just wanted to see Sherlock eat and sleep on a more regular basis. In the last case, Sherlock barely took care to feed himself. John, for the first time, understood how the tall man functioned on a case. It was not only that Sherlock forgot to eat or sleep; it was like all his energy was focusing on the thinking part, forgetting to send signals of hunger and sleeplessness. John had finally gotten that Sherlock in case-mode just didn't feel any needs from his body, except the one to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. 

John's army side just loved running with the madman. He felt that he had a purpose in this life again. He felt needed and sometimes, he could even help the detective in his reflection. Seeing the praise in the detective's eyes when he said something intelligent was worth any harsh comments the rest of the time. 

And, if he was telling himself the truth, he was close to being in love with the man. He didn't let himself fall because he needed the madman to show some tiny bit of romantic interest in him, which Sherlock never did. As much as John controlled himself, he knew it was a losing battle. Sooner or later, the unwelcome feeling would creep into his heart.

John's life was better since he moved into 221B, and he had quickly realised that he needed the man. For all those reasons, John decided that he would be whatever Sherlock needed him to be, he would take any place in his life; friends, flatmate, Dom, doctor, skull, anything. And lately, Sherlock seemed to be settling for flatmate and friend. John would gladly take that, and he wouldn't push for more. It was easier since he made the decision. A phone ringing took him out of his daydream and announced that the next patient was ready. He thanked the receptionist, and went to the door. 

He just had to put aside all thoughts of Sherlock, on his knees, wearing only a collar, saying «Yes, Sir». 

–

Sherlock hadn't slept in the last three weeks. He had dozed off in cabs, never reaching deep sleep. He didn't remember eating either, but presumably John had force-fed him along the way. After a case, Sherlock would stay in a state of euphoria for a few hours. That was the best part. Then, the chemicals in his body would slowly make him sleepy or hungry. He would satisfied his body needs, by eating too much take-away and sleeping for a whole day, and then he would have a few days of being content. 

But sometimes, when he pushed his body too far, there was not the sweet euphoria or the content phase. He would stay in a manic state. His mind raced, full of deductions or thoughts. Nothing would go away, they would just clutter his mind, he couldn't focus enough to go to his mind palace and make the much needed maintenance. 

He was in one of those states now. He hadn't crashed this hard since his early twenties. He didn't know why, he couldn't rationalise it, he couldn't even think. 

His mind was full of things he saw during the case, men, women, Dom, sub, unimportant, boring things about them, where they lived, if they cheated on their spouses, if they owned a bird, what they had eaten, or if they were sick. He was overwhelmed by the data that his senses kept sending him. He heard sounds twice as loud, making his head hurt. He was wearing only his pants because even his clothes touching him were too much. He could feel them scratching his skin. 

He was in a sensory overload. He knew only one solution to that. He still knew where to go to buy the sweet concoction. He always made sure to know. But he wouldn't go that way yet, John would find out, he would be angry and he would leave. That was just unimaginable. He couldn't be alone anymore, he would not.

Maybe if he stayed in hiding for a day or two, just long enough for the high. Just one hit, so his mind would calm down again.

And where was he, the traitor? Sherlock was having a crisis while his supposedly-oh-so-helpful flatmate was working. He could have started a fight with him, blaming John for something or just plain insulted him or his low intelligence. John would fight back. It would have occupied his mind for a little while. 

The fact that Sherlock Holmes didn't hear the footsteps slowly making their way up to the flat showed how far his mind was gone. 

\--

The vision that the doctor had when he entered the flat was quite something to behold. 

Most of the furniture had been pushed aside or was upside down. The usual ordered mess was now something akin to a tornado of papers, they were everywhere, taking every space available. 

There was a madman in the middle of the room, pacing, hands in his hair, gripping hard. He was down to his pants, but for a scarf that belonged to John. His whole body was one hard line of tension, every muscles taut. He had a manic look. John had never seen Sherlock like that. A wave of cold panic went through the doctor. 

"Sherlock?"

The madman stopped in the middle of the room, his back turned to John. 

"What's going on?"

The answer took a long time, like Sherlock was remembering how to talk. The grip on his hair grew tighter. 

"My head. John, it doesn't stop. It hurts so much. Will you hate me? I can't sleep. I can't eat. Will you leave?" Sherlock was talking slowly, gripping his hair, not moving an inch. 

The words had been whispered. John didn't understood what Sherlock was saying. Did he wanted John to leave or he wanted him not to?

"Sherlock, let me help you." 

John took a step toward him. As John moved, Sherlock react as if he was going to be hit, he sat down, trying to protect himself. 

"Please Sherlock, let me do something. I won't leave."

"Make it stop, John."

–

John took a deep breath. He needed to help Sherlock, but he just didn't know how. 

Then the doctor saw it. Sherlock had all the symptoms of a sub that needed to go under; they were just a thousand times worse. The tension, the self inflicted pain, the sensory overload. It was text-book. A sub could go very far in that state, hurt himself permanently or even kill himself.

John would not let that happen.

 _"Kneel." _John used his Dom voice. Sherlock needed to follow simple orders. The voice would help him focus.__

Sherlock went to the floor, as if his body was acting without his mind knowing. He needed to calm down. If Sherlock had been John's sub, the Dom would have played with pain and pleasure. The mix of the two meant that less pain was needed to go under. But Sherlock didn't belong to John. So pain would have to do. 

Slowly, as if he was approaching a frighten animal, John went closer to Sherlock until he could put his hand behind the man's neck. 

"I'm going to tell you what will happen. I will make it stop. _You will do as I say. You won't question my demands, you will execute them, that's all I ask of you. Do you understand me? _"__

"Yes, John." 

Sherlock didn't look at John. All of a sudden, as if he was realising something, Sherlock tensed up. His body went back to extreme tension. 

John put more pressure on Sherlock's neck. 

" _Trust me. I will take care of you. _"__

–

Sherlock was swimming in total confusion. John had appeared out of nowhere. He didn't want John to see him like this. Sherlock Holmes, the great consulting detective, had to be in control of his own self. He had turned his back on his flatmate when he realised John was there. He couldn't bear to look into the man's eyes. 

It was the please that John had used that had convinced Sherlock. Maybe the good doctor could help him, just like when they'd run in the dark alleys of London. 

When John had used his Dom voice, Sherlock couldn't help himself. He went to his knees. His mind was full of sounds, sensations. Somehow, as John talked, it seemed that more and more of his thoughts were focusing on the doctor; he was taking over some of the chaos in his mind. 

The sensation as he went to his knees was close to relief, not the pleasure he had felt in the dark alley, the first time he heard John used his Dom voice. Somehow, Sherlock knew there was no other option for him, it was that or the drugs. He would kneel a thousand time more for John than take drugs again. Even if it did break the promise he made himself so long ago, to never have anyone controlling him.

Then, there was a hand on his neck, making it easier for him to focus on John's voice through the wall of his mind.

Each time he agreed with John, his body seemed to untense a little bit more. 

He didn't know why, though, but his body rebelled against the pressure on his neck, the thought almost making him sick. But the doctor stood his ground, putting more weight on his neck. His mind and his body gave up the losing fight.

" _Go to your room, kneel in front of the bed, facing the wall. Now. _"__

The sub obliged. He did has he was told, feeling the Dom following his steps. It was easier now, there was fewer thoughts in his mind. It seemed that not making decisions was helping. 

" _Hands behind your back. _"__

The sub laced his long fingers together, while kneeling beside the large bed. 

John needed to find something to hit Sherlock with. He couldn't use his hands, it would have been too intimate. That was not what Sherlock needed; he needed pain to disconnect his mind and finally allow him sleep.

John thought of the riding crop. 

While John was searching for the object, Sherlock's mind started to go out of control again. He shifted on his knees, not wanting to get up, but barely able to stay there. John was absorbed with his search. Sherlock's breath was coming faster, and his mind was overwhelming him again. He didn't know what to do. Stay down, stand up? Fingers laced or one hand holding his wrist? Should he sit on his heels or stay straight? There was a car on the street, loud noises, walkers, it was starting again.

" _Stop thinking. Breathe at the same time as me. Go back to your position. _"__

Sherlock felt the heat of John's body behind him. His mind slowly went back to a calm state. Then, he felt John's hand on the back of his neck, pushing him forward to put his head on the bed. 

" _Put your hands on your head. _"__

John's Dom voice was a sweet thing in Sherlock's ears. It eclipsed all other sounds. 

John took a step back and a deep breath. He wasn't going to make Sherlock count. He would make clear demands, but never punish him for not following them. Sherlock was certainly not in a state for that.

"I'm going to use the riding crop. If you said ‘red,’ I will stop immediately. If you say ‘yellow,’ I will ask what is wrong and make sure you are comfortable. _Promise me you will use them if need may be. _"__

"Yes, John."

" _What are the safewords? _"__

"Red and yellow, John." 

" _Good. _"__

Then the blows came, not too hard, not too soft. John kept changing pace, hitting different places in rapid succession. Sherlock kept moving involuntarily away from the instrument, but came back to his position each time.

By the seventh strike, Sherlock's breath had slowed way down.

By the 14th, Sherlock had stopped moving away.

By the 21st, Sherlock, unaware of himself, was making light little sounds, akin to a moan.

John stopped at 27. Sherlock had reached subspace a few strokes ago. John wanted to pass his hand on the marks he had just made, but he refrained himself. That was not what the sub needed.

Instead, he put the riding crop on the bedside table. His hand went back to Sherlock's neck.

" _Sit on your heels, hands on your thighs. _"__

Sherlock did as he was told. A wave of deep pleasure ran through him. At that point, John realised that Sherlock was hard. He didn't do anything about it. That was not what the sub needed. John unmade the bed, went back to Sherlock, put his hand on the sub’s neck, and guided him to a comfortable place under the covers. 

John couldn't resist petting Sherlock’s hair for a minute. Sherlock did purr at the gesture so he didn't feel too guilty. The doctor went to close the door, and bought a chair closer to the bed, close enough for his hand to rest on Sherlock's. 

" _Sleep now, Sherlock. _"__

"Will you leave?"

"No, I'll stay here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to D.Kelly for beta-ing :) Believe me, it's so much better now!
> 
> All mistakes left are mine, as many as they are.
> 
> Hope you liked it!


	9. Not enough time

Sherlock woke up gradually. The first thing he was aware of was the soft blanket cocoon surrounding him. Next, he realised that his mind was not blank, but clear. He could take information, deleted it, or focus on a sound or a feeling, like the car down the street driving too fast for this area. He took a deep breath and that's when he felt it. A sting that started in the middle of his thigh and ended at the top of his back. The sub could rationalise it as pain, but what he was experiencing was closer to pleasure. The weird feeling at the bottom of his back was more present than before. Each move sent a wave of pleasure up his spine along with an image of John hitting him with his own crop. Sherlock took another breath and opened his eyes. The good doctor was sitting by his side on a chair that was usually in a corner of his bedroom. John was watching the window, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. Sherlock took in all the little signs he saw. The soldier hadn't slept at all last night. Did he watch over him? All night? That knowledge was hard for Sherlock to understand, so he placed it away in his mind palace, in the ever-growing room made just for John.

"You didn't sleep."

John smiled. As usual, a fact, not a question.

"No I didn't. I'm going to make breakfast. Maybe you should shower?"

Sherlock's wasn't sure if he was relived or disappointed not to hear John's commanding tone.

"Yeah, sounds good."

That was strangely not a Sherlockian response. The sub put it on the pain/pleasure that ran through his body.

John nodded and left the room.

Carefully, conscious of his tight back, the sub stood up and went to pick up his clothes. Last night had broken every rule Sherlock ever had.

 

*

John was making toast, tea, eggs and beans. Sherlock needed to eat. It also had the benefit of helping the Dom focus on something else than the image of an almost naked Sherlock in the bed.

He heard the drawer in Sherlock's bedroom open and close. When he turned around, Sherlock was slowly moving up the stairs. He was only wearing black pants. The Dom could see each mark he had left on the pale and beautiful body in front of him.

Almost at the top of the stairs, Sherlock said in a harsh tone, without turning his head:

"I am not your sub."

It took John out of his reverie quite abruptly.

"I know, Sherlock." John said mildly in the direction where Sherlock stood.

The detective nodded his head and went to the bathroom.

John stood there, griping his cup, trying to focus on something other than his broken heart.

 

*

 

It had been a few weeks since The Incident (unaware, both John and Sherlock had started to refer to that night in their receptive heads that way).

The first days for John had been hell. His new mantra was: I'm Sherlock's friend and flatmate.  
He kept that thought in his head at all times. Since he was not a machine, contrary to the consulting detective he lived with, John permitted himself a fantasy in the shower and a quick wank. It kept the image of a helpless Sherlock tied to his bed at bay.

Slowly, John had found equilibrium again. It was precarious for sure, but he wanted Sherlock in his life. The cases took up their time and, aside from seeing a naked Sherlock in a sheet, John was fine. As long as the tall man was by his side, John would be fine.

 

*

 

John woke up in the dark. Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was barely past one in the morning. John frowned, he hadn't slept very much lately with the Moriarty case and Sherlock getting frustrated by the dead ends. Closing his eyes again, he tried to focus on sleep, only to hear a soft sound from his door. A tall man cast a long shadow in his room.

"John, you are awake."

"Somewhat, yes. Case?"

"No. I... can't sleep. "

John turned on the light beside his bed and looked at the sub. Sherlock looked... sad. It sent thousands of questions scrambling in John’s brain.

"What’s going on?"

"Told you. I. Can't. Sleep."

There was something else, the doctor knew it, but Sherlock clearly didn't want to talk about it. John moved his hand to the sheets and pulled them down.

"Come on. Maybe this'll work." John smiled and invited Sherlock with a nod.

The tall man gave him a little smile and quickly moved to the bed, slipping under the blankets. Sherlock stayed on his back looking at the ceiling, and not relaxing a fraction. John made an audible sigh and pushed Sherlock on his side. The Dom wrapped an arm around the tall man and whispered in his hair.

"Better?"

"Yes. Much, thank you John. For everything. "

The answer puzzled John, but he knew better than to ask.

"Well, you need to sleep."

"Yes, John."

The way Sherlock had said the line, in such a submissive way, in such a natural way, sent images to John of The Incident. He took a deep breath and tightened his embrace on the other man’s chest.

After a minute, both men were asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to the lovely Beta for making my writing way better!


	10. The Fall

The day after they spent the night together, Sherlock was on the edge of the roof and John’s heart had stopped beating a long time ago.

"Isn't that what people do? Leave a note?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. I'm a bad person. I'll try to post the next chapter soon!


	11. Interlude : John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead!!!
> 
> First, the story won't fallow the story arc of season 3. Because it was suppose to be done by then.   
> Me + laziness + one job + second job = no time to write. 
> 
> Second, I love you!! Yeah you!! Leaving kudo, or a text or reading!!! :) 
> 
> Happy new year. Have love, happiness and many good stories to read.

It had been a year. 

John was standing in front of Sherlock’s grave, a hand on the tombstone. 

The soldier didn't cry, nor did he talk. He just stood there, thinking about the past year. 

The first few weeks had been the worst. It even took Mycroft’s intervention to get him out of the flat.

*  
 _  
There was no light in the flat. The Dom didn't open the curtains or the lights. He just went from his bed, to the couch. Occasionally, he went to the fridge, not even questioning how there was still edible food. It clearly wasn't his doing, he hadn’t seen the sun since Sherlock's funeral._

_John went back to the couch, with an apple, where he looked at the TV without seeing it._

_There was a knock at the door, almost inaudible._

_John got up, more of habit than motivation._

_"Mycroft." John said the word without tone or intonation._

_The man was there, wearing all black, like an old widow. A small smile was on his lips, because it was only polite to do so._

_"John, may I ?"_

_John let go of the handle and went back to the couch._

_The silence lasted. Mycroft sat in John's chair and he looked and he saw. The pain, the sadness. It was everywhere on John’s skin, on John’s clothes, on John’s heart and soul._

_"You are killing what is remaining of him."_

_John looked from the TV to the other Dom in the room. He heard him, his face showing his incomprehension._

_Mycroft then left, closing the door behind him._

_*_

_Those words were not magic, John didn't got up the next day, happy-go-lucky._

_But he took a shower and got dressed. The day after that, he ate three meals. Then he went to get tea with Ms Hudson, he cooked, he went to Tesco._

_At some point, he went to work. He drank a beer with Mike, then Lestrade. Got himself a hobby, volunteering at a Homeless place near by._

_He laughed, he cried--not because of Sherlock, got bored and even felt something close to happiness._

_*_  
  
The soldier sighed, caressing slowly the tombstone before letting go. 

"When we first met, you saved me. I couldn't let that be meaningless, I couldn't let that die. You're still alive with me, Sherlock."

The soldier made his way back home, hands in his pockets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As many thanks to my beta as mistakes I can make (so so many!)


	12. Interlude: Mycroft and Greg

It had become a routine.

It started when he was demoted to traffic. His corner wasn't far from the cemetery, so he took his lunch hour there. It was calm, he could hide. He realised, the second time around that there was a little bench under a tree. As he sat, a strong feeling of deja vu came over him. Sherlock's grave was in sight, just a bit to his right.

It should have felt weird, eating beside a dead Sherlock. It wasn't, it had a strange peaceful effect. Not that the consulting detective had ever made him peaceful when he was alive.

He still came back, every few days. Sometime, he talked to the not-very-talkative occupant of the tomb. Telling him how bad the taxi drivers in London were. Sometimes, he just sat there, remembering Sherlock’s deductions or his witty come-backs to Anderson.

He even asks his forgiveness.

The man came a bit less since he was reinstated as a DI, about a year after Sherlock's death.

He had a shitty day. There had been a bank robbery by a young male (perfect son, still in college) and they had no damn fucking clue where he was. It had been a week, and the hope of finding him was close to none.

Plus, there was a man on his bench. This day was getting worse by the seconds.

Greg decided on the imposing-himself-approach, maybe the guy will just stay quiet. The DI didn't want to talk to anyone if that was possible, especially a Dom. He put up with all their imposing voices and looks too much on a daily basis. The sub just wanted a quiet meal alone with his thoughts.

Greg slid slowly onto the right side of the bench, deliberately not making eye contact.

"Good afternoon, Mr Lestrade."

Greg turned to see Mycroft Holmes of all people.

"Good Afternoon, Mr Holmes. What a coincidence seeing you here."

Mycroft just raised an eyebrow and looked directly into Greg's eyes.

"As it's the place of rest of my late brother, not that much. Officer. "

"Oh! yes.. I'm sorry, I just..yes, stupid of me." (Greg declared in his mind that it was officially a day to forget). Greg looked everywhere but at the man beside him.

Mycroft Holmes was one of the rare Doms Greg found interesting. He hadn't seen the man since Sherlock's funeral and he had just made the worst comment of all time.

"Also the fact that I was told you have a … tendency to come eat here. "

Greg fidgeted in his seat. "Yes, it's strangely calming."

Mycroft just nodded, like Greg’s answer made sense to him.

They sat in comfortable silence for the next hour.

*

It was a routine now.

At first, Greg brought his lunch, and so did Mycroft. Then, Mycroft brought both of their lunches, though Greg told him it wasn't necessary. Mycroft kept bringing food for two. After the fourth time, Greg didn't bring anything, just sighed loudly and took the Dom’s food. A large smile made its way onto the Dom’s face, a small victory.

They sat there together, sometimes talking, sometimes not.

It had been more than two months, and Mycroft still found the DI interesting. He certainly was a good DI, even without his brother's help. He was righteous, courageous and he wasn't afraid to say he was wrong. Something the Dom didn't see often in his line of work.

More so, the DI wasn't afraid to show a dominating side on the job, and yet, he embrace his submissive side with Mycroft. He saw it more and more on every encounter. Greg let Mycroft chose the food, he sat closer to him, and he always asked permission before sitting.

And Mycroft knew he didn't do it with just anyone. That fact pleased him more than it should.

As he waited for Greg, on the bench, beside his brother’s empty coffin, he wondered if the DI would still act this way after Sherlock's return.

He would found out soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my lovely Beta!!! All mistakes left are mine!


	13. Interlude: Sherlock

The hotel room was dark, small, and the decoration was from the 1960's. It wasn't vintage, probably had never been updated since the construction of the building.

In the dark room, one man was lying under the sheets of the double bed that took up most of the place. He had pale skin and dark curly hair. One red line was visible right under his eyebrow. He was naked apart from a scarf loosely tied around his neck. The man's eyes were closed, and he was breathing slowly, but he was not asleep. He was thinking.

Sherlock was deep in his thoughts. It has been a really good day; Moriarty's web was almost destroyed. He was able to take down many of them. Even with the unstable justice system of this weird country, the men that were still alive were not going to see daylight for a long time.

Considering these recent events, Sherlock decided he was ready for a reward, and a big one.

He tied the scarf tighter around his neck and took a deep breath. In his mind, he was back in Baker Street, kneeling in front of the foyer. He was naked, apart from the scarf, but he wasn't cold, the fire was warming his skin.

_"Good boy, Sherlock, you did just as I told you"_

_John was standing behind him, fully clothed._

 

The imagery send a warmed trill in Sherlock’s lower back. In the dark hotel room, the sub wasn't touching himself yet. He wasn't indulging often, so he wanted to make it last.

 

_John put a hand in Sherlock’s hair and pulled hard. He bent over and kissed his sub tenderly. The dual sensation made Sherlock whimper._

 

_"I'm going to tie you. I wish to see your skin under my rope. To see you struggle, knowing I did this to you. Me, your Master."_

 

For a brief second, the Sherlock-in-the-hotel-room wonder if John would talk to him like that, would he call himself Master? Or Sir? So many things he didn't know, it made his fantasy unreal. The sub took another breath, putting the frustration away as he focused again on the world inside his head.

 

_John stops the kiss, but his hand stayed in Sherlock's hair, petting instead of gripping._

 

_"Up, sub." Sherlock fallowed the Dom voice without thinking of disobeying. Deep pleasure ran through his body._

 

_John went to Sherlock's chair to get one piece of rope. He came back with a wide smile, his hands caressing the sub body._

 

Sherlock started to touch himself, his hands mimicking the hands of his made-up-John.

 

_The rope had made a corset on Sherlock's chest._

 

_"So beautiful, my sub. Now, let's see you struggle for me."_

 

_John took Sherlock's hands and put them behind his back. The sub could feel the breath of his Dom on his spine, just below his hair. John kissed his neck, just to bite it the next second. The sub gasped at the pain. At the same time, the Dom tied his hands together._

 

_"Go down on the floor, on your side."_

 

_As soon as Sherlock was in position, John bound his ankles with the same rope as his hands. The sub tried to escape, testing the bonds. John got up, eyeing his work, clearly appreciating the view._

 

_"So beautiful, just liked I wanted you. You did so good, my boy, you should get a reward."_

 

_John pushed him on his back. He kissed him deep as his hand went to the sub’s hard cock. John did not tease, he moved fast. The Dom’s intensions were clear._

 

Sherlock felt himself coming, groaning as pleasure overtook his mind.

 

He took a deep breath and untangled the scarf. A small smile spread on his lips as he whispered «John...» in the dark, sleep overtaking him.

 


	14. The return or Observation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!! Not dead!   
> So good news, here's a new chapter! Also i'm pretty much done writing the story :) 
> 
> Not Beta.... so sorry for my mistakes. 
> 
> Also, Happy new year and thanks for all the kudos, je vous aimes tous!

It was dark. Not that pitch deep-black you get in the middle of the forest, but a soft dark glow. It was the middle of the night and John was sitting on the floor in the hallway as close as he had dared, eyes toward Sherlock's door. 

John was in shock, not the orange-blank-ambulance kind, but the one that made his mind stop and not be able to process what was happening. 

He couldn't sleep, and he couldn't stay in his own room. It was just too far, not close enough. 

He was there, a wooden door standing between them. Not close enough, but not too far. 

The only thing John did was replaying today in his head, hoping not to forget any details. 

\- 

The doctor was coming back from is volunteer work and he also had an earlier shift at the clinic. He was completely knackered. His feet were heavy on the pavement, but he was almost there. Mrs. Hudson had gone for a few days to see an old friend somewhere not in London. John couldn't remember where she was, but he knew that she left him a note with the details on how to reach her. The flat will seem more empty than usual without the little sounds downstairs. 

As John was climbing the steps, he wonders if he should get a cat. It would be nice to come home to a living thing. He wonders if Mrs. Hudson would let him keep a cat. Then, out of nowhere, he had an image of Sherlock in his thinking pose with a yellow cat making paws on his face. John smiled at the thought. It was becoming easier to think about him, he felt less in pain, more empty.

John put his coat on the rack and turn on the light. He knows he should eat something, but he was too tired, even reheating leftovers felt like a mountain. Maybe a cat would help him take care of himself. As he took off his shoes, he notices something peculiar. Not a snore, more like a heavy breathing. 

Then, only then, he saw him. He was in John's chair, his head slightly bend on the left, resting on his hand. He wore clothes he would wear any normal day at Baker Street. Like he had never gone. 

John took a deep breath that woke the other man. The other man looked at him blinking away the sleep his eyes. 

"John? I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep. I didn't know when you would come back, I didn't want to greet you like this... I... I'm…. not dead?" The man tried to sit straight, but there was a heaviness in his body.

John knew the man was speaking, but the words did not register. He was focusing on how much the tall man had change and yet, still the same. 

"You look like you're still tired, you should go to sleep... Sherlock."

That's all John could say. He went directly to his own room.

__

Of all the ways Sherlock though John would great him, he hadn't imagined this one. As Sherlock lay on the bed, face toward the door, he heard John descend the steps and sit almost in front of his door. 

Sherlock didn't know if he should go out there or stay inside. He wanted to let John go to his own pace, give him time to let everything sink in. At the same time, he wanted to be as close to him as the last night they had so many months ago, before. He wanted John to take him in his arms and only... feel his breathing lungs and beating heart. He needed to know that all his sacrifices to keep John alive had not been in vain. 

Sherlock didn't move. Both man fell asleep only when the first light of the day shown. 

–

It's been three weeks, four days and 14 hours. 

It felt way longer and really shorter. It was a scientific impossibility. The undead man lied on the couch in 221B. He had broke the news of his coming back to everyone he knew. The very next day of his return, he had drag along John to find the last string of Moriarty web. His faithful assistant by his side, as it should, as it were. 

Except... in one way. 

When Sherlock was overboard not only did he came to term with his submissive side (his own reward as an image of a naked John Watson holding his ridding crop could speak by itself) but also, he finally understood the strange feeling in is lower back. 

It has been hard to analyse at first because he was searching for only one feeling, one emotion. On one of the worst night, he had an illumination. It wasn't just one sentiment. It was everything. Everything he felt and feel for John in one reaction. Friendship, trust, lust, desire, affection, devotion, submission, admiration, and even, something like love. 

And now John was acting like the best friend he was, but didn't came close to Sherlock. Never touching, not even by accident. It wasn't that John had stop wanting him. If that was the case, it would have been simpler, Sherlock would moved on and enjoy the precious friendship they have. 

Sherlock could only but see. John eyes and their lust, wondering on his mouth, on his neck, John shudders when he was deducing, John licking his lips when he though he wasn't looking, John movement that stopped before he could touch Sherlock. It was all there before, but now it was so obvious to Sherlock he wonders how he had been blind. 

In Sherlock opinion, John needed some pushing to finally to take the last steps and acknowledge his feelings and act on them. Just like the time he took care of Sherlock when he had fallen into a drop. The detective just realised while hearing John making tea he knew exactly how to push the right button on the Dom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking for a new Beta if anyone's interested :
> 
> lajeunefemmeaucrayon@hotmail.fr and i've have a tumblr! lajeunefemmeaucrayon


	15. Théories et prédictions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Still here. :) Thanks again for kudos!!

People of science needed facts and observations to establish theories and hypothesises. They would then experiment on their subjects hoping to prove right or wrong their belief. After, they would gather new facts and observations, which would help them make conclusions and news questions to go on.  
Sherlock needed facts and observations. Something his mind would lean on. 

First, John Watson was a Dom, and, base on previous attempts, compatible with him. John Watson was also a man of value and principles. He always take care of people around him. It was his nature. 

He was also able to gather facts about John sexual interest with him. Not only did he base his observation on the resent weeks but, also he had revisited his mind palace to found evidences in the souvenirs before his departure.

Now, he had the first step he needed for his experiment. He had to make hypothesis of how could he push the right buttons and make John Watson makes a move. 

The mad scientist produce a list: 

1 –Since John was an alpha male, Sherlock might appeal to this side by making him jealous. Has it had been shown with Irene episode, the Dom has display that behavior before. 

For this experience, he establishes he needed to flirt with someone, the only problem was finding someone that John would identify as a possible treat to his territory (here, Sherlock). 

2 – Since John was also a Doctor, Sherlock could use that against him. He has to hurt himself to appeal to that part of his flatmate. 

For this experience, Sherlock needed the right dosage. He didn't want to hurt himself too much and end in the hospital (then John wouldn't be the one treating him) or not enough (in that case, the experiment would be nil). 

3 – Since John was a Dom, and that they have a conclusive first time as a pre-experiment, Sherlock could act like if he was in a subdrop. 

This experiment had the greatest chance of positive result, but was the hardest to do. Faking a drop was hard and would take several days to prepare. This experiment start now, but the result would be seen in a few weeks. It has also the greatest risk, John seeing through the lie since John has a lot of experience (based on the Three-continent-Watson nickname). 

Having decided on a plan, Sherlock got up suddenly from his chair and went to find a new case that would provide the objects needed to apply the first hypothesis. 

Sherlock was still for such a long time when he got up John jumped and splash all his tea on his newspapers. 

«Fucking hot!»

Sherlock turns around, a grin on his face. The detective though that one day John Watson might say the same directed at him.


	16. Résumé : observations of the first and second experimentations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! :) Un-beta

First hypothesis: Jealousy

They were on a case it wasn't worth more than a 4. As the great consulting detective knew he needed to be back in Lestrade good grace and he took anything Scotland Yard was giving him. When the tall man verbalised that fact to his friend, John answers with a questioning eyebrow that said without words: At what time were you in Scotland Yard good grace?

Anyhow, they were now on a case of stolen computers (BORING!). They were in a high school which been the theatre of the last robbery. Sherlock Holmes knew for the last hour who was the criminal (the headmaster of a concurrent school that been bullied by the new headmaster as a child). But the detective was busy putting his first hypothesis into motion, flirting with the new highly good looking policeman, Joshua.

Joshua was young (by his haircut), was going to the gym (as his large biceps shown, correlated by his gym card), single (because of his type of clothes), was a Dom (see the comment about the big biceps) and was good looking (everyone single police officer took extra time to prepare this morning – even Donovan). So, he was the perfect object for Sherlock first attempt at breaking the good doctor.

He didn't want to be too obvious in his flirtation (that would be too easy to see through the lie, John would know it wasn't normal behaviour for him) so the detective had adopted a shy and submissive flirting technique. He was looking at the man (and not at John), while making deductions (not directed to John), answering his (rather stupid) questions and giving him verbal approval (even if he prefers giving them to John when he helps in the deduction process).

It was driving John completely mad. Sherlock could see it, the soldier was using his breathing technique to stay calm and his fists were closing and opening frequently. That was useful data: John was showing emotions, he was nervous and angry, two emotions related to jealousy. Sherlock was confident his first attempt was working marvellously.

«Do you know who did it, M.Holmes?» Joshua said. 

It was time for the grand finale. Sherlock exposed his deductions to the new policeman and, to a second degree, to John.

«So, it's Mister Hunter. He waited long for revenge.» the detective said.

«Amazing.»

John whispered the words. Strangely, they had more impact spoken so softly. Sherlock had a brief imagery of him, kneeling in front of a smiling John telling him how amazing he was while petting his hair. His nice dream ended rather abruptly when he heard a sound of two running man.

He heard Lestrade scream while he was trying to gain ground on the first running man: «Who the hell let our suspect without surveillance!?». The detective got up and followed Lestrade. He heard John and the new policeman do the same.

«John!! Go by the back!» Ever the good soldier, John followed his instruction. After a 5 minutes run the suspect was stuck in the school park and caught by John. The headmaster wasn't cooperative, John has to use his Dom voice to put the handcuffs:

«Hands behind your back.»

Sherlock liked hearing John's voice. The order, obviously giving to the headmaster, did nothing to the detective. A strange sound was heard by all. He turned around to see Joshua with his hands nicely place behind his back. His position was accompanied by a red face showing his embarrassment of being affected by a Dom voice in front of his colleague.

To what Sherlock responded:

«A submissive, there's always something!»

He left the park as fast as he could. In the background, he could hear John says something to the new policeman before he followed him. Probably saying something nice and predictable. A fail experiment and a boring case. This day was a total lost.

–

The first hypothesis, after reflexion, wasn't the total failure he evaluated that day. John had indeed displayed various stage of jealousy and possessiveness, but those had completely disappeared once the policeman revealed to be a sub. John even stayed after the incident to reassure him.

Great, it was almost as if it was John who was now flirting with the policeman and it put Sherlock in quite in unsteady stage. At least, his abrupt departure might be mistaken to symptom of in incoming sub-drop (sudden change of mods was the first sign).

Sherlock let two day past before he attempted the second hypothesis.

Since Sherlock's return, John and him spend more time inside Baker Street then ever. It was partly because Scotland Yard has yet to completely trust him again, but Sherlock suspected it was mostly because the two flatmates had a hard time not being in the same room as each other. It has started the first night of his comeback when John has slept by his door. Now, most of the time, John and Sherlock where in the same room, always in sight of each other. The only time they were separated was when John went to the clinic or to his second-not-paying-job. Even there, John had taken the habit of texting Sherlock at regular interval. Texts to which Sherlock all answer by sarcastic comments. He did reply to every single one of them.

The detective needed to plan his second experiment quite carefully. Even the auto-proclaimed sociopath knew instantly that it was a bit not good coming back from the dead only to almost died again in front of the same person a month after a not-quite-so-dead party.

He needed to find the perfect balance.

He thought about it a lot and concluded that the most plausible way to hurt himself was either by one of his home experiment or by chasing some criminal in London. Since he was too bored to wait for the later to happen, he made a plan for the first idea.

He played enough with chemical (and made plenty of mistakes, not that he would tell a soul) to know what kind to use and at what dosage for this purpose.

What he would use would make convincing frostbite wound. His hand would hurt and stay red for a few days but not much more.

So by an afternoon, he settled his bakers and chemical on the dining table as usual. From where he sat he could see John peacefully reading the papers. The image made the tall man wear a soft smile.

As he watched John, Sherlock carefully put the pre-dose chemical on his hand and made great noise by breaking a few of his bakers. They were his least favourite anyway.

«Sherlock?Are you alright?»

«Yes! No! Ow!»

John came rushing to the kitchen.

He saw the tall man bent in two, clenching his left hand.

«Sherlock? Are you hurt? Show me....»

All Sherlock could think was that it hurt a lot more than the last time. He remembers reading an article of how the human brain tend to forget the pain with years as a defence mechanism. His brain was quite good at that it’s seem.

Then John touched Sherlock's shoulder and all the pain became a white noise in the back of his mind. His body was focusing in this single point of contact.

«Now Sherlock, show me your hand.»

John used a bit of Dom voice. Sherlock realised that he didn't heard that voice directed at him since his return. Sherlock couldn't have resisted even if he wanted. He gave his hand to John.

«Can I put water on it?»

Sherlock didn’t trusted his voice, he nodded instead. John guided the tall man toward the sink where he put the burn hand under the running water. All the while, John’s hand never left Sherlock shoulder and Sherlock's felt none of the pain.

-

The second hypothesis was a complete failure. John had touched him yes, took care of his wound and then... and then nothing. He didn't even say a word. Just dress the wound and went back to his chair. To push the Dom, there was one option left.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I did it. First fanfiction. My first langage is French so please be nice people! :) 
> 
> And comment!


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